


Chasing ghosts

by not_a_statement



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-06-21 21:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15567015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_a_statement/pseuds/not_a_statement
Summary: "To realize that all your life - all your love, all your hate, all your memory, all your pain, it was all the same thing. It was all the same dream, a dream that you had inside a locked room. A dream about bein' a person.... And like a lot of dreams, there's a monster at the end of it" Rustin Cohle (True Detective)A mash up, not a crossover.Pinecest as a general reason.But not quite.Not an English speaker, hope you'll forgive my lack of writing talent





	1. Chapter 1

Baton Rouge, LA, January 30th 2035.

The bartender narrowed his eyes staring at a picture he was holding. It was a photo of a young girl wearing a bright orange sweater with alpaca on it and a light purple skirt. Long brown cascades of her hair were hung over her shoulders, her radiant hazel eyes were shining with fun and joy, a big goofy smile plastered on her face was giving a full show of her flawless white teeth lined up in perfect rows. She was holding a small plastic card faced to the camera with another picture of herself smiling and some text beside it written in a small font. Judging by a word “California” printed with big letters on the top of the card and by girls age — she was aged up sixteen or so — you could tell that it was her first driver license. And somehow this cute and happy young girl looked familiar to a woman that bartender remembered walking in this diner two weeks ago, save for her age and outfit.

"Oh, yeah" he finally said returning a picture to a man sitting in front of him across the bar counter.  
"I’ve seen her in this place two weeks prior. But I’ve already talked to detectives, sir”

A man sitting at the bar put the picture in his vest pocket and placed his hands atop the counter. 

"I’m not the policeman" he responded extending a hand to grab a cup of coffee standing before him. " I am in a sort of...umm...a private search.

"Oh. You mean like a private investigation?”

A man shrugged taking a sip of his coffee.

"If you like" he placed his cup on the counter and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his inner pocket. "Her family hired me to...Would you mind?”

Bartender looked around the place, which was normally empty for this morning hour and gave his interlocutor a nod.

"Sure, go ahead. But only until someone shows up. You know — the law and whatnot”

"Of course" a man at the counter pulled one cigarette out of the pack. "Thank you. So I was telling that her family hired me to do a private searching" he lighted up a cigarette, "if I may say so”

"So did you know her?" asked bartender.

After taking a long inhale a man at the counter slowly let the smoke out of his nostrils and gave a nod.

"We grew up together. In California. My house in Piedmont was standing across the street from Pines family’s one. We went to the same school and even the same church on Sundays. Eventually I've met the whole family" he shrugged yawning and staring absentmindedly somewhere into the void before him. "Never been close friends with her though”

"Cold day, early hour, huh?" the bartender half smiled and pointed at the coffee maker standing behind him. "Need some more of that?”

"It would be nice, thank you” a man at the counter straightened up and shook off the ashes to the the shot glass placed on the counter purposely by the bartentender. "Anyway, could you tell me about that day you've met her? How did she look like, maybe you had a small talk or something?”

"Sure, sir" the bartender responded pouring a cup of black coffee for his only customer «we got a lot of folks dropping by, but she stood out somehow and so I do remember her» he placed a jar aside and pulled out his own cigarettes.  
"It was early in the mourning when she came in — pretty similar to the time of your arrival. Dressed in a gray cloak, no makeup if I could tell, a medium sized bag hanging over her shoulder — I’ve never seen a ladies’ handbag that size before. Might've been a travel one. You know — a bus station nearby so it made sense. Lots of travelers drop by to have a bite here” 

He brought a lit match to a cigarette and took a deep inhale 

"So, she walks up to me and asks if we had some blueberry pancakes with syrup and hot cocoa with marshmallow. To be honest I was pretty confused — not that I was greedy, you know, but we regularly have some black coffee with fried eggs and bacon for breakfast. Anyhow, she sits at the counter, trying to swallow her coffee without it making her gag — not the best way to start a day for a such a pretty woman, I can tell you”

He chuckled letting out a thick cloud of smoke

"That day my Betty wrapped a piece of apple pie for me to bring to work. And I thought I could’ve lighten this girl's mood a bit, you know? So I’ve found some whipped cream back at the kitchen — I remember I squirted some on the spoon to sniff it. God knows how long have this can been there and I didn’t know any other way to check if it’s fresh or not. So I place a cake with cream on it on a small plate, serve it to her with broad smile saying that treatment is on the house and she looks at me giggling. I mean what the heck, what's so funny? Then she brings her little finger to her cute little nose and bumping it lightly. So, I'm touching mine and guess what? There was cream on my nose. I might've dipped it while I was sniffing sucker!” 

The bartender snickered and took another long inhale 

"I don’t know, she seemed to me like a teenage girl then. Such a wide smile, bright eyes — just like at the picture you showed me. Save for little wrinkles on her forehead and in corners of her mouth. Like, you know, she used to smile a lot in her past but now…”

He frowned a bit.

"Anything else?" the man at the counter asked.

"Not much" another inhale "She told me her name — Mabel — said that she’s from New York, came here to find somebody”

"Did she mention whom exactly?”

"No, sir, she didn't. Even frowned when I asked so I've decided better not to push the subject." bartenders’ frown deepened  
"Hope nothing bad happens to her and she’ll be found soon. Such a nice girl. When detectives came in a week ago and claimed she’s gone missing I remember I’ve even froze in my tracks. I’ve heard the news and rumors about many people disappearing in the daylight around the country. And after that a half of them are found insane and other half takes their own life. My cousin from Texas even told me about one farmer was found in some ditch — eyes burnt out, head shattered into pieces" he put his cigarette out "Pretty scary stuff”

His interlocutor also finished smoking and pulled a couple of wadded up bills out of pocket of his trousers.

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions right now" he said not looking at bartenders eyes,  
"A woman in a strange city could just move away or something. Who knows”

"Well, let's hope for the best" the bartender agreed. "Good to see there are some concerned people invested in this case after all, mister…”

"Wilde" said the man at the counter "But call me Steven”

He extended a hand with a twenty dollars bill towards the bartender.

"Thank you for the coffee and your time”

"Don't mention it. I'm happy to help a good man doing the righteous deed. Coffee's on the house, Steven”

Wilde responded smiling but didn't put away the money

"That is very kind of you, but it ain't just todays coffee I'm grateful for. I'm genuinely glad that you were the first man that Mabel met here" he placed the bill atop the counter "Have a nice day”

After that Steven stood up from his stool and headed towards the door to walk away into the cold and surprisingly windy Louisiana morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, here goes the first chapter. Forgive me for my grammar, like I said I'm not a native speaker, but I hope you'll find it at least readable.  
> Beta read by Edward-or-Ford (if you're who is that, go check out his Tumblr blog, he is a great writer https://edward-or-ford.tumblr.com)  
> Thanks for your kudos and hits so far. And as I said before - comments and critics are appreciated

New City, NY, August 31st 2024

Dipper set aside the empty glass and glanced around at the merry people gathered to celebrate the Pines twins’ birthday. There were friends, a couple of relatives, colleagues. Mostly the Zach Turner’s colleagues: Dipper himself did not have personal contact with many people every day. A freelance journalist is called freelance for a reason. But if you are a stockbroker, even a beginner, then you might be in this kind of crowd. All of them fit, most of them tanned (probably from a solarium), wearing fancy Trussardi polos, a full set in order to impress you. To make you believe that you are looking at a wealthy confident man who knows no worries and ready tackle any money issues.

No, It’s not that Dipper could blame them, it's just their job to look successful and reliable. But from all this dazzling crowd hanging out in the backyard of the house he began to feel a ruffling sensation in his eyes. As if somebody poured a bucket of transparent glue on each of them and after they were shot with a sequins canon or whatever. It’s just seemed that each movement of these people somehow refracted the rays of sunlight at such an angle to hit Dipper directly in the eyes with a piercing beam. But anyway, Mabel was probably over-delighted with this kind display. Somehow it became a sort of tradition for the past ten years: what was painful for Dipper was pretty joyfull for Mabel.

Pines mentally kicked himself for that last thought. It sounded terrible, even if he didn’t say it out loud. And it sounded even worse coming from the thoughts of a loving brother.

Hah, a loving ... brother. It's odd even to put these two words in one sentence…

Another mental kick. Don’t you even dare to think about your feelings for your own sister, not now. Better to not ever.

Disgusting thoughts.

Wrong feelings.

Bad brain. Very bad and being an ass right now. We need to focus on what is important: today's birthday. Stan could get to us from his backwoods. Dad and Mom are also going to visit in a couple of days, when they return from the next trip around the country. They are probably happy with their new life without the constant care of children, busy only with each other and with their dreams.

Everyone was happy. Why couldn’t Dipper at least relax a little and pretend that he enjoyed this noise, instead of constantly thinking about escape paths from this house filled with smiling mannequins and idle talk? From the house where every piece of furniture, every spoon from the gift set and every word uttered by its inhabitants would forever remind Dipper of what he lost, and more than that, what he could never get. It was taken away from him by this slender hard-built bastard with a radiant smile from ear to ear and the sweetest speeches that he poured in huge doses into the ears of everyone around him. All these manners, courtesy. Damn, was it really only Dipper that was sick of this man-made likeness? Did no one else see his essence? Why did no one else see him as the dirty bastard he was? And why was Mabel, sweet smart Mabel, so blinded by all his fake ... this fake ... facade?

Dipper let out a deep sigh and reached for the glass again.  
You know what? Forget it. You once again begin to come up with wild ideas and seeing things. Not every man hovers around Mabel actually turns out to be a psychopath, a juvenile maniac or a bunch of wild Fae creatures.

Yes, but I was right then!

Because then you tried to protect your sister, not the girl you are in love with.

As if there is any difference.

Newsflash. Of course there is. Want an example? Okay second year at college, the black guy what’s-his-face? Always found an excuse to hang in your dorm room with Mabel. You do remember him, right? And how long did it take your eye to recover from swelling.

Hey, it's not my fault that he got into a fight.

It happens when you get a lot of suspicious glares.

There weren’t so many of them ...

Dude, he still probably thinks you are a racist or something.

The rumble of a bourbon being filled in a glass was almost a lullaby. Dipper did not even notice how he filled the vessel almost to the brim.

Well, that was great: he was talking to himself now! Not that it was the first time. He often arranged internal disputes on this or that topic, clashing his rational part with itself or with the sensual, but never before his emotional side sounded so offended and pitiful.  
Dipper frowned, sipping an amber drink, which burned his tongue and throat, but at the same time it became a little easier to consider everything that was happening and himself in it. With this ease, eyelids grew heavy, thoughts became slower - only the footage of the last six months of his life began to flash before his eyes.

If it could be called that. A life ...  
Life is something sensible, controlled in the most of things. With no comprehensible forecast, only with assumptions - and that's enough, believe me.  
And this kind of floating in the time-space with rare interactions with random objects floating there as well could hardly be called a life. It's like flying on autopilot without a specific purpose. And even you can not enjoy a journey in spite of what they say. A kind of asteroid in the cold space.

Or more like....  
Perhaps it's ... like a satellite? Yes, a satellite that spends its entire life quietly orbiting its planet - a circle after a circle, year after year. It's boring, but you can adapt, especially if you do not think about why you get in this orbit and what happened before. If you do not replay in your mind moments from the past when at the age of fifteen you started to notice things that should not have been noticed, when your sweating hands, weak legs and lack of words turned the simplest conversation into an attraction of strangeness and awkwardness. If you do not replay memories of prom night over and over again in your head, which you found an excuse not to go to having no date to bring along, and your sister spent the whole night accompanied by that tall blond guy from her Spanish class and returned only the morning after. Or how you secretly threw out letters from the MIT that was ready to tear you away from the opportunity to choose a college in the same city as Mabel did. 

Collect all these pieces together, and here you are - Dipper Pines - a proud mayor of the city called "What am I doing with my life?". Population: one person.

No, not like that.  
And you are ready to go out into the streets and tear leaflets to passers-by with an invitation to the seminar "Are you too happy with your life? I will tell you how to get rid of this feeling. Every Sunday at a local community center. BYOB"

Yes, that's better. I can at least raise a little money.

Wait, what am I talking about? I need to open my eyes ...  
A little more ... a little more ...

Oh, No! Bad idea!  
Too light! Too light and too many people!

Oh... damn it …

Hmm ... although what am I? This was like it before I fell into my thoughts.  
And yes - I'm still here. In the backyard of this hellhole, where Turner dragged my May ... um ... my ... my sister in his clawed paws. And from this hell I will never get her out of.

Dipper opened his eyes a little wider and looked at Zach's two-story house with complete disdain. Painted in a sky blue color, with windows washed up to the illusion of their absence and a neat backyard with garden gnomes, miniature paths lined with wooden footbridges, solar-powered lanterns and a low fence separating this site from the neighboring ones, it fit perfectly into a quiet family scenery, which New City of himself represented. This house came in no comparison with a small apartment in Brooklyn, where the twins has lived for almost a year after moving to New York. The apartment, which was a witness of moments of happiness and sadness, where the TV sometimes wasn’t turn off til morning because of the another marathon of cheesy horror movies, which housed the whole world of two closest friends, who loved each other sincerely and unselfishly. And which kept the secrets of one of them about where in its sincerity and disinterestedness there were footnotes in small print.

At the age of sixteen, Dipper told himself that only time was needed and that everything would end, everything would pass.

Now that’s a funny statement. Like a film or a book with an open ending, it gives a choice. For example, how long will it take or what will end? How many more will a small gray spinning top spin before shaking and gradually slowing its course until it stops? And will it stop at all?

Well, anyway, Dipper learned one thing - nothing can depend only on his will and obey the dry logic and, therefore, control. At the age of eighteen, he began to feel how gradually the situation began to develop according to his own scenario, regardless of his efforts to manage it. At twenty-two he could hardly find an explanation for his actions and decisions, and six months ago …

Six months ago, the satellite nevertheless descended from orbit and began its journey through the cold dark and empty nothingness. Six months ago, time had finally passed and everything was over.

On that day he walked from the editorial office with a new assignment. It was Friday, there was nowhere to hurry, although on the streets of New York even if you do not want to you have to merge with the eternally rushing crowd. There was a smell of spring in the air, and no matter how cliched this phrase was, damn it, it was true. Even Dipper felt something like that. Light and warm whiff. For the short time that he walked from the editorial office, the world around acquired more color, more smells - not literally, New York, with its busy streets, always supplied smells even above normal. Everything around seemed to come to life, blossoming in all its glory.

Not surprisingly, Mabel was always so happy about the arrival of spring, wherever we were. Maybe I should learn from her? Observe her today while taking a walk in Central Park - why the guy can’t invite his sister to take a walk in Central Park? Also, it’s now so beautiful there - bare trees are just beginning to be covered with the first signs of foliage, old men and women and young lovers are walking slowly along the paths of the park, contemplating what’s happening around them ...  
It is possible to pretend that there is no hidden sadness that there is no emptiness inside. You can just move your legs, do not think about anything and absorb the sensations. And all this next to the most beloved person in the whole world …

Immersed in these thoughts and not particularly paying attention to scurrying hurried to and fro people around him, Dipper did not notice how a lazy and pacified smile began to creep across his face.

At least today life is good!  
Mabel was waiting for him in the Ferrara bakery on Grand Street, where she was heading after another interview. It turns out that it's not so easy to find a job in New York for a mobile designer, but Mabel was not one of those people who despairs even after four months of searching. Although it seemed to Dipper that her enthusiasm was already at an end, and only by some miracle she still finds the strength to get up in the morning. He wanted to cheer her up, somehow raise her spirits, even if she does not admit that she is sad. Show that he is near, that he was always and will be there.

He planned everything: meet Mabel after work, a walk in Central Park, pizza for dinner and several pre-prepared playlists to choose from - romantic comedies, musicals, horror films and detectives. When they were sixteen, they could spend the whole night before the TV screen watching this kind of marathon of films. It's clear, they are older now and they have work and responsibilities, but, hey - today is Friday.  
Simple and sincere. Only two of them, together.  
It sounds like a date. Something like that…

From Worcester Street, on which stood the editorial building, it was ten minutes to go to the venue. Turn to Grand Street and go east, bypassing Green, Mercer, Broadway, Crosby, Lafayette, Center, Baxter and Mulberry Street. Piece of cake.  
Despite the fact that after the turn the only thing that he had to do was to be on the straight line all the time, Dipper repeatedly checked the route in Google maps to make sure that he does not get lost and will be in place on time. Yes, it sounds odd, but New York is a big city, and it needs to be able to navigate. He didn’t want to repeat the story when Mabel mistakenly left for Jersey City and Dipper had to explain to her how to send her geolocation message to find it and pick her up.

Although now, probably, Dipper with all the desire could not not find the place where his sister was waiting. Huge signboards to the owners of the establishment seemed to be not enough, so they hoisted a giant plastic cones with a multicolored ice cream on both sides of the entrance, put a showcase with sweets on the street, and on the visor above the entrance for some reason they’ve put an old red baker's truck or something like that. Only the red carpet leading inside was missing. Oh, no, here it is …

Mabel sat in the far corner at a table for two. Before her stood a half empty mug of latte (obviously with a syrup of bubble gum, how can one drink it at all?) And a barely touched strawberry cheesecake. A slight dreamy smile played on her lips, a look through half-open eyelids was directed against the wall opposite her, the cheek is propped up by the palm, and the head is slightly tilted. Oh, so might it be that today she was at luck?

And how did it always happen that in any situation, in any position and with any expression of her face, Mabel was more beautiful than all the girls, that he’s ever seen in his life?..

"Hi, sis," Dipper said with a smile. "How was today?"

Whatever Mabel dreamed of, she was deep in her thoughts, because only the creak of the chair being moved in front of her and the appearance of her brother in her field of vision could bring her back to reality.

"Oh, hello, Dip," she chirped smiling wider. "I didn’t expect you so early."

“What?” Dipper was slightly taken aback. “I thought that I was even five minutes late ... wait, is this sarcasm? ...”

"No, no," Mabel said, quickly removing her elbow from the table and tucking the hair into her ear. She scanned the bakery, as if not quite understanding where she was.

“What time is it now?”

"Um, seven o'clock, just the time we agreed to meet”

"Oh, already?" Mabel lowered her eyes slightly and began fiddling with the tips of her hair.  
"The time flew by so quickly," she added in a half whisper. Her cheeks glowed softly.

“Yes, already” something suspicious was in the behavior of the sister. But put it off, Pines. You were going to offer something.  
"Well, how did it go this time? Everything’s worked out? Looking forward to the call?”

"Or I can call first," Mabel playfully giggled.

“Mmm? Can you call them first for what?”

Mabel raised her eyes to her brother, in which a certain perplexity was read. For another couple of seconds, the sweet mist of dreams in her gaze dissipated until something clicked in her head, and she finally realized what Dipper was talking about.

"Ah, yes," she did her jazz hands "an interview. Well, it seems that next month you’ll still have to pay for the apartment. "She sighed and took a mug of coffee with both hands, lowering her head," again ... "

"Hey, hey," Dipper reached out and covered Mabel's arm, "it's all right. It's not important, the main thing is that you find a place where you’ll be appreciated and where it’ll be interesting for you to work and manifest yourself. You're the most creative person in this world. Heck, they're just idiots, if they didn’t take you right away!”

Mabel looked into Dipper's eyes and sadly, but sincerely smiled.

"I'll help you with what I can and will be around," Dipper smiled back.

God, how beautiful she is. There were so many guys in high school who liked her that the fingers of Ford's hands would not be enough to count them. True, none of those who had the luck to be with her, did not last more than two or three weeks, because none of them saw that behind the beauty of her there is also a very sharp mind. The whole universe with its rules and colors was stored in this charming fair-haired head. But none of them seemed to notice this.  
Unlike Dipper.  
Mabel embodied all the things that he lacked so much: freedom, creativity, infinite energy. Without it, he would not be a whole person. No one would have him learn to enjoy life and look at the world from a different angle, different from the position of dry logic.

"Thank you, bro bro," Mabel said quietly. "It means a lot to me, really”

"Any time, May," Dipper snapped his hand away and looked at his watch. "We still have plenty of time until the sun sets. It's about 20 minutes by metro to the Central Park, so I thought that we could wind up our heads a little. What do you say? You didn’t have any plans for tonight, did you?”

Mabel looked away and blushed profusely, covering her mouth with her palm and softly giggling.

Oh no. No no no! He screwed up, did he? He said it as if he was inviting her on a date. Oh, damn, oh, damn it! He rehearsed this phrase so much that it sounded like a simple friendly proposal in order to funk up anyway ?! She knows, she knows for sure, and now this situation will become even more awkward.  
Set the panic aside! I need to figure out how to get out of this. Just laugh it off or try to explain what he meant.  
Shit, why his palms are so sweaty? Is he in the eighth grade again?

“It sounds tempting, Dip. I’d really like to take a walk now …”

Oh, my God, phew. Everything is fine.

"... but, you see ..."

But? What’s for but? But what?

"... I really don’t know how it happened ... it seems that I have a date tonight!" Mabel finished her phrase. Her eyes were just glowing with happiness. The smile was broader and more dreamy than before, which made Dipper feel cold in the lower abdomen.

“I really didn’t know that this is the case in real life, but when I was walking from Five Points here ... i mean, our eyes just met, and I realized that he’d come up to me and ask me some question or say something... I just don’t understand how you constantly experience such stress every time you try to talk to a girl, this has never happened to me ...”

But Dipper wasn’t listening anymore. Only now he finally noticed all the details surrounding them. Strawberry cheesecake - when was the last time Mabel allowed herself something sweet in the city? Of course, they were not so poor, but given the fact that Mabel still did not have a permanent job, she tried to save money and not squander the money of her brother over trifles. So it was a treat. Then, how did Dipper not notice the empty espresso cup standing on his side of the table? He was too busy contemplating his sister to draw attention to this and to the fact that Mabel was constantly fiddling a napkin in her hand, on which was visible the pen-written sequence of numbers and one word.

Zach.

He left her his phone number. Who does this now? What kind of moron should one be to do this, instead of just dictating a number to be recorded in the phone?

That invisible, light breath that warmed Dipper so far from the moment he left the editorial office was instantly replaced by an importunate cold draft, from which all the muscles of his face grew cold and numb, turning nis face into a fixed mask that did not express any emotion. The bright March evening began to be replaced by a dark emptiness.

And Mabel kept talking and talking. She was extremely excited by what was happening: so many emotions, so many assumptions and hopes. As many as many times the only one phrase sounded in Dipper's head:

It happened again …

Sooner or later, it should have happened, but why today? On the day when he finally felt a barely perceptible wave of happiness?

Sometimes it seems that the universe itself is against you. Whether you achieve something desirable say some fun and joy come to life - bam! Sign here, please.  
On the one hand, you can, of course, decide that this is "designed" so, that it’s fate and junk, that everything is natural and the time has come. The time for whatever - for example, the time to give up.  
On the other hand, one can regard this same "bam" from the Universe as an appeal not to relax and to act further, to become better, to grow and all that.  
You can, of course, just not react at all.  
It depends.

A lot of dependencies happens to be all around us. Someone sits for hours with a guitar, learns to play the way his or hers favorite performers do, someone shoves career needle into his or hers veins, someone’s obsessed with science - yes, there are plenty of examples.  
And love is something you can depend on too.  
It’s even addictive.  
And for someone who already has a strong addiction, something smoother will ... be like ...

Damn ... words ... how to make them into sentences? ..

So, enough for today's memories.  
And speaking about strong and smooth ... I need another drink.

The glass stood on the table right here. Where is it ... hey?

Hey!

What the...?

"You tell me. That's enough for you, kid."

Kid? Oh he didn’t...

Dipper opened his eyes, trying to make out the speaker with him. It would have been better if it was anyone, but Zach.

"I think you might have the wrong glass, buddy," he croaked, trying to focus on the figure of the man next to him holding a vessel with amber corn liquid.

“Oh yeah? And didn’t you have the wrong party, knucklehead? The last thing I want to see right now is how my nephew gets drunk as hell at his birthday party”

Wait…

Stan? ..

“No, Pope John Paul II. Who do you think?”

In a second, Dipper's eyes flew open, and consciousness returned to online mode. Was he talking all this time out loud?

“I ... um” Dipper uncomfortably fidgeting on the chair, adjusting the edges of the shirt that was pulled up and briskly brushing his hair with fingers.  
"Stan ... how long ... are you sitting here?"

"What? You wanna know how much of that nonsense that you muttered I heard? Don’t worry, your secrets will die with me.”

Oh no…

Dipper swallowed nervously and nodded uncertainly, looking before him. Stan responded with a laugh and added, changing his tone from more strict to good-natured:

"It's a joke, kid," he lifted his massive hand onto his nephew's shoulder, "there's nothing for me to blackmail you. This time.”

If they were in another place and under different circumstances, Dipper would have laughed along with his Gruncle. Now he did not even try, because together with laughter it would have turned out to be some silly awkward likeness.

"And yet, what made you to portray that guy ... Kain Rivers? Give you a piece of cake in the hand, and there’ll be complete similarity.”

"You mean Keanu Reeves?"

“Him, too.”

Dipper sighed and lowered his head, covered his face with his hands. Stan, having sipped a little bourbon from the glass, put his hand on his shoulder again.

“Seriously, Dip, what's wrong?” he added worried.

“Nothing, I'm fine” telling lies to a man who has proved over many years that he is the most understanding and caring member of the family left a disgusting taste on the tip of his tongue. If someone than it would be Stan to always be able to hear out and help. He would lay down his bones for the well-being of his family. Maybe he can at least somehow pour out his soul? ..

“What did you feel when Gruncle Ford disappeared in the portal? What’s it like to understand that your closest friend’s gone forever?”

Stan also sighed, setting aside his glass, and turned to face Dipper.

“Listen. You and Mabel, as long as I can remember, have always been together. You grew up, studied, moved to another cities. As I said, you rarely see such a relationship between a brother and a sister. But sooner or later, both of you should have had other companions of life. This is normal - it’s so arranged in the world. People get married, have families, children, invite each other to their dinners, go to work, dig in the garden in the backyard. It’s not the same as getting lost in another dimension for thirty years. Mabel just got married, she didn’t disappear from your life. Yes, now you’ll be separated not by the walls of the rooms, but by a good one and a half hour drive, but ... I’m not a good speaker... anyway,” - he drank some more whiskey.

"You two are better than we were with my brother. I'm telling you this, Ford claimed it until his last breath - believe me. Even if you were separated by space and time, you’d find a way to find yourselves... I mean to find each other. Do you understand what I mean?”

Dipper looked at the old man. In Stan's glance, God bless his heart, confidence and love were read. As always. And although he did not come even a bit close to understanding what was going on in Dipper's heart, his words still warmed.

"Yes, I do, Gruncle," Dipper smiled slightly. "Thank you."

"Well, it takes more than a simple thanks to be stuffed" Stan laughed and rose from his seat, leaning on the cane, "if you knew what they feed you on the plane, you’d understand what I mean. Next time I fly business class, and you pay. I spotted like a table with snacks inside, it's time to visit it.”

With these words he headed toward the house, stepping unsteadily and constantly leaning on his cane. Dipper saluted him in the style of Lando Calrissian and frowned. It was not fair to upset Stan today with talk like that. So much of a burden was falling on his shoulders lately, and then there's just a glimpse of joy. Still, not every day his grand-niece marries.

It's a pity that Ford did not live to see this day. I definitely need to take a couple of days off and go to Oregon. Stan becomes too weak to regularly care for the grave.

“Dipper! Bro-bro!”

Oh no.

Dipper pulled a smile on his face and turned to the source of the sound. There she was, flying to him in a light purple summer dress with a white collar.

"Silly drunken little brother. Where did you disappear?“ Mabel laughed, catching him with an empty glass and a half-empty bottle.

Dipper rolled his eyes and smiled wider.

"Mabel, we're the same age. Also I noticed that one bottle of champagne was open before the guests arrived” 

He frowned in a mocking way and rubbed his chin,  
“Hmm ... But who drank the champagne?..”  
He pretended to be chewing a pen, thinking hard.

Mabel stuck out her tongue at her brother and laughed loudly.

"You’re such a nerd!"  
She plopped down next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. 

“Just think of it, we’re twenty-five now. Do people even have to live so long?”

"I'm still surprised that you even lived to be of age, considering the amount of sugar you absorb daily ... Ow!" light elbow pokes from her still caught him off guard.

“You deserved that. Be grateful that Mister Tickles didn’t show up for such conversations with your sister.”

“Okaaaay. Mabel, are you sure you’re twenty-five?” Dipper quickly moved away from Mabel, who was ready to attack on his brother's ribs with his fingers spread out, and raised both hands, "Okay, okay! No more of that!”

"Good brother." Mabel nodded with a satisfied look. "And now, if you'll allow me, jokes aside."

She took a small rectangular bundle from her handbag hanging from her shoulder on a thin chain and solemnly handed it to Dipper.

“Here!”

Dipper took the package from his sister's hands and for a few seconds admired this neatly wrapped in a nice-to-feel gift paper object. It was a pity to spoil such beauty.

“Come on, open it!”

In one motion Dipper opened the package, and in his hands was a large, thick notebook of dark blue. On his soft leather cover was woven golden threads of a small pine tree. Dipper carefully opened the title page, which was encoded with a neat letter. This time Dipper's face was lit up with a sincere smile - they invented the cipher together, many years ago, when in the classroom they passed notes to each other or left them in lockers.

"Wow ..." Dipper sighed. "I ... um ... thanks, Mabel."

"You're welcome, Dip," his sister shone, "I just wondered where it's seen that Dipper wouldn’t have a journal, would he?" she again laughed and wrapped her arms around him, pulling her brother in a bear hug. 

“Happy birthday, Dipper.”

"Happy birthday, Mabel," he replied, breathing in the fragrance of her floral perfume. "I ... um-uh ..." he cleared his throat and pulled away. "My present ... it... I decided not to carry it with me, so it's in the house, but ... I'm sure you'll like it too.

“It would be better if it was so.” Mabel said haughtily. With these words she jumped up, grabbing Dipper by the sleeve of his shirt and dragging him toward the house.

"There's a whole bunch of them there! Gifts!” she skipped off to the house, taking her stumbling brother along with her. "Let's go! I can’t wait to open each one right now!”

* * *

“Son of a…” the lighter was still sent to the garbage because of malfunctioning, and now all the hope remained that the houses still had matches. Dipper had already rummaged through all the drawers in the kitchen, but not even one sucker was found in this abundance of kitchen utensils and cutlery, such an absurd abundance for the apartment, now serving as a lonely young man's refuge.  
Dipper's gaze wandered around the kitchen, the space in his eyes doubled, quadrified - in general it was multiplying in every possible way, and it was extremely difficult to focus on something definite.

Was it really necessary to get so drunk? He did not have a car in New York for the time being, he used to travel by public transport and a taxi, but this is not an excuse for finding a pub on his way home to Brooklyn and staying there until midnight. The morning will be very bad. Very painful and bad.  
But, it looks like this is the problem of tomorrow's Dipper, not today's, who has a real business to do now.

He held his hand to the countertop, and staggered to the gas stove, which looked like the last chance to light a damned cigarette, clamped in his teeth. Unsafe last chance. After meditating for couple of seconds, Dipper shook his head, muttering "No, sir," and went to investigate further. Still an eternity, according to the present chronology of Dipper, was wasted - there were no lighters or matches in the house, so that the stove was again in his field of vision.

Still adhering to the nearby interior for a safety net, Dipper drove to the suspicious fire-breathing inhabitant of his house. The fire was only lit from the fifth attempt, and, bending over to the hotplate itself and almost putting his shirt collar on fire, Dipper finally sucked in the pungent tobacco smoke.

And, it turned out that trying to smoke his first cigarette in life right now was a bad idea. Even disgusting. Not only that, he immediately became overwhelmed with a heavy cough and the shaking of his diaphragm awakened something dark in the stomach, consisting of half of bourbon, and half of the birthday cake.

Oh, shit, shit, SHIT!

To the left from the kitchen into the corridor, to the end ... lights on...

Where’s this switch ?!

Oh no! ..

FUCK!!!

At the last second Dipper managed to touch the toilet before he utterly unpleasantly vomited. All thoughts and emotions were compressed into a dot, leaving the consciousness with a devastatingly pure emptiness.

At some point, it might even have seemed that Dipper had blacked out, but as soon as the last urge receded, he straightened leaning with his hands on the rim of the toilet bowl and stood on his unsteady legs and went to the sink, much more tired and much less drunk.

At least giving the face a splash and rinsing the mouth with a freshener will not hurt.

And what do we have here? Oh, nothing, just your dirty still green face with a week stubble and some substance smeared around your mouth.

Oh, gross, ew!

He pulled off his shirt right over his head, doused his face with cold water, rinsed his mouth and staggered into his room.

Well, that's my life now. Drinking, no permanent job, a broken heart ... what could be better?

Dipper hobbled to the bed and plumped on it, without even bothering to remove the veil and pull off his trousers.

At least here I can quit pretending, he thought, as the tears came down bombarding his pillow.


	3. Chapter 2

Baton Rouge,LA, January 23, 2035

 

The general office of the State Police Department was filled with sounds and people typical for Monday morning. Investigators, detectives, even a couple of court clerks were moving slowly between the work tables. Phones ringing, Maggie's coffee machine softly grumbling, detective Nate Parker rants about his little rendez vous with a couple of girls past weekend, which caused an occasional bursts of laughter from a small group of listeners. Someone’s complaining about son, who’s got yet another detention at school. That scallywag was caught smoking in the school closet during lunch break. “I mean, come on! What’s the school’s backyard is for? What’s wrong with these children?”

 

All this leaving no chances at all for detective Robert Brooks to focus on completing the report. Frankly, if there was anything consistent to write then probably no excuses could take place. The missing was found the week prior in the Pine Prairie area - one of the tourists called the police and said that near the shore of Lake Millers lied a body of a dead girl dressed in a white light dress. By the time detectives and the team of medical experts arrived, a decent crowd of onlookers gathered around the corpse, hence searching for traces at the crime scene wouldn’t be for big avail.

 

_ What else? _

 

There’s no doubt that the victim was killed - even though the lungs were full of liquid and the fact that clothes and skin of the deceased were pretty much hinting that she’s spent plenty of time in the water, a rope trace was found on her neck.  _ So, the drowning was staged _ .

 

_ By whom? _

 

_ Well, here’s where interesting questions start _ . 

 

No wonder why the crime scene was so crowded - case after case were quaking the whole country. People kept disappearing in a daylight - single men and women of different ages, usually without family and friends - those who wouldn’t be immediately claimed missing. Generally the search would last for about a week or two only to let detectives stand before such corpses (and it could’ve been worse, if one believed Nate the Chatter Box) or find victims alive but absolutely insane. Wearing rags, disoriented, and with no memory at all, no one even remembered their names.

 

People were frightened. And no one had even a small clue, even a hint, about this maniac’s whereabouts or appearance. His work was flawless - every time a new case appeared in press, this bastard’s already in another state. Probably.

 

At least everything looked like that  - no one had accurate information. And, which was a very bad thing to say, such cases were a nightmare for any detective - perfect addition to the record. There were adventurers, of course, who wanted to catch their own Zodiac, but most people were genuinely concerned about their careers.

 

And so it happened that careerist Brooks was not only brought to a partner of the adventurer Tam Bennett, and more so, he was appointed to investigate such a case.

 

Robert sighed, once again glancing over the printed report page on the computer screen. 

 

_ Elizabeth Arthrisha Marlowe, born in 2019, blah blah blah ... Numerous abrasions on the arms in the forearm, blah blah ... The time of death was determined between 9 pm and midnight on January 17 of this year ... and more rubbish. Seriously, what else to write? _

 

When he and Tam just started the investigation about two weeks prior Robert was saving hope that that time would be a fluke. Children and adolescents haven’t figured in such cases so far, and a sixteen-year-old girl could go to carouse with friends, or with some guy - anything. But the fact was bulletproof  - the corpse of Lake Millers was identified, parents were heartbroken, Captain Hernandez was constantly inspecting for progress on the case, and Bennett was obsessed with all sorts of theories. Or women.

 

_ Where is, by the way, that boy this time? Monday, ten in the morning! Wasn’t it Tam who kept calling me all Sunday while I tried to spend the day off with family, and reminded of all the chores to do on Monday? That’s not even funny _ .

 

_ Okay...This won’t work. Perhaps the morning coffee-tobacco ritual will help clear the thoughts? Yes, sounds good. A cup of Colombian black with cream, a spoon of cane Mexican sugar and a pinch of cinnamon in a compartment with a cigarette and fresh morning air. The first good idea for today, Brooks. _

 

Robert got up from his desk stretched and headed for the dispatcher's counter. After receiving his equivalent of the Holy Grail from  Maggie, he passed the doors leading to the office, a corridor filled with civilians who were brought here or who came by their own will, then the hall and finally went into the parking lot in front of the department building. The weather was pleasing, here and there, however, small flocks of clouds were gathering, but the sun was shining warmly. The city, long awakened, performed a symphony of the weekday - passing pickup trucks and small cars, ordinary townspeople and important birds like lawyers and real estate agents scurrying around here and there. You could even hear a heavy truck driving in the distance.

  
  


_ Someday all this will be rewarded _ , Brooks thought, releasing cigarette smoke and slowly sipping from a mug with the inscription "Best Daddy in the World".  _ Another five years, and I’ll be in higher position, and five more - and here comes the retirement. A small house in California somewhere in Palo Alto, a neat little garden for my Mary and a home winery for both of us. Our Aaron and Lucy would come over for Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter ... imagine - a festive table with the family and you are sitting at the head of the table. What else can you dream about? Life will be like this cup of coffee - warm, reliable and with a very long aftertaste, if sipping small  _ ...

 

“Aaaaaah!!!!”

 

_ Mother of… _ !!!

 

Brooks threw up his hands in surprise, spilling half the contents of the mug on the sidewalk.  _ Thank God not on a work shirt _ .

 

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack at thirty-seven?" he yelled into Bennett's laughing face, sticking out of the silver Volkswagen’s window. Tam's hand was still on the honk.

 

"Seriously," he panted through his laughter, "you would see your face, Bob! Standing there, caught up in a daydream, and then this - Aaaaah!”

He mocked Robert’s grimace of horror.

 

That laughing blond face was so tempting to throw the rest of coffee at it!  _ First he’s late for work, and now he decided to mock me! _

 

_ All right, calm down, Robert, calm down. It would be disrespectful on your part to respond to the pranks of this toddler overgrown. _

 

"Not funny, Tam," he said, trying to sound dignified, "what took you so long, by the way?"

 

“Oh, oh, oh! " Tam started fidgeting in the seat, shaking his arms around him.

"Wait ... where was it ..."

 

He began to search for something, bending in all imaginable and unthinkable directions. The front passenger seat, glove compartment, pockets on the doors, even under his feet. As Tam reached there, his head fell on the steering wheel with a swing, causing one more honk.

 

"Just find a spot and park already" Brooks said, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers, pain in his voice.  _ Seriously, not a partner, but a complete disappointment. _

 

After Bennett parked his car in the far corner of the parking lot, and Brooks reached the porch of the building, finishing his coffee ( _ great, the sugar at the bottom did not dissolve completely, and now the last sips are too sweet, splendid _ ), they exchanged a handshake and went inside.

 

"I'm still waiting for the answer, young man" Robert said as strictly as he could as they crossed the hall.

 

"First, I'm not your son," replied Tam, smiling. "And second, I decided that I’d make you a surprise."

 

"What surprise for God’s sake? What are you up to again?”

 

"Don’t worry, Bobby, you'll like it! Very much!”

 

"Can you at least pretend sometimes that you're a professional?”  Robert didn’t like all those glances from people around, attracted by Tam's enthusiastic exclamations.

 

"Nah, I'm gorgeous just as I am" Bennett shrugged as they approached the door leading to the general office.

 

"Take the keys and wait for me at your car. Mine is... umm ... not in the purest condition today. I need to go to Sam, I'll be back in a moment”.

 

“Oh for love of...”

 

"Maggie! My doll!” - Bennett exclaimed, pressing his lips to the hand of the dispatcher, who immediately blushed and playfully giggled. The white blouse, she was wearing, obviously lacked buttons in certain places, which caused a lot of discomfort to Brooks. Bennett, apparently, didn’t mind this kind of view.

 

"How was the weekend, my sugar? Had many men kneeled?”

 

"I think you'd know better, detective," Maggie purred innocently  "or am I wrong?"

 

_ Really? In front of the whole office, these two would exchange so unconcealed expressions of passion and lust? Where’s the ethics committee when you need one? _

 

"I'd love to know more ... dig a little deeper if you let me put it this way ..."

 

_ Wow! Okay, not listening to this! Gross and obnoxious! _

 

"All in good time, detective. But next time you shouldn’t forget your promises about ... special equipment.”

 

The phone rang at the dispatcher's desk, putting an end to this vulgar scene much to Robert's relief. While Maggie, still crimson and still with a half-detached blouse, were answering the call, Tam winked at his partner and pronounced "handcuffs" with his lips, pointing his finger in the direction of that spicy’s lover. Just like a student at a dorm party.

 

"Don’t forget the keys!" he added, quickly moving away from the counter in the direction of Captain Hernandez office “I'll be in a sec!”

 

Brooks stayed where he stood, setting the mug on the counter.  _ Here we go. Got nothing else to do but to stand here and wonder what this scoundrel has in mind. Every time. Every goddamn time. Easy to wound up with a half-turn, and everybody better run away within a radius of a couple of miles around. Cars soar into the air, tiles fly from the houses’ roofs, women in  panic, children crying. A real hurricane. Safe for the name - Tam, not Andrew _ .

 

"It's not even the first month that he works here. Sam lectures him constantly, I give instructions, and look at him. Always jumping ahead, as if his head’s made of stone and will demolish any wall”  Robert thought out loud “what's even going on in his brain? ..”

 

"Dunno much about the head, Bob," Maggie said in a caramel voice reappearing at the counter, dreamily slapping her eyelashes, "but trust me, what's going on in his pants ..."

 

"You know what, I already regret saying it out loud!"  _ Jesus Christ, would this vulgarity scene come to an end already?! _

 

Brooks got to his desk and sat down in the armchair. The plan for today, which could hardly be called consistent as it was, began to become completely insane. First the report, which he had nothing to write in, then spilled coffee, all sorts of bedtime insinuations - yes, Robert knew what sex was and where the children came from, he himself was a father, but that's too much - and it's time to arm with a trowel and a little plastic bag to walk this boy.  _ We ought to find a leash. Maggie probably would have one ... _

 

_ No, no, that's a bad joke. Very bad _ .

 

_ Okay, probably the report can be a time killer, while Tam’s chatting with the captain. It’s not like time killers are always pleasing but what you gonna do, right? _

 

At least there were some people who’d probably be happy with whatever Brooks wrote for a report of an adolescent girl’s horrifying murder. Newspaper editors.

It looked like they’re making it a competition to draw more attention to their source of information compared to competitors. "The Oregon maniac visits Louisiana." "Yet another reason to use the door chain." "Mysterious kids killer at large".

 

_ Blah blah blah. Scribblers. _

 

_ Of course the case is serious and everybody mourns for the girl and prays for her parents to smother their misery, but is it really necessary to play with people's hearts like that? Add in the photo plastered on the front page - a police tape in the foreground and a bunch of people crowding behind it. Fresh stuff, just from the crime scene. _

 

On Friday evening, when Brooks was about to leave home, anticipating a delicious chicken breast with parmesan and eggplant for dinner, he found Nate and Tam in the interrogation room, staring intently at that exact photo from the newspaper. Enthusiasts. They say that the criminal always returns to the crime scene. So both decided to play bloodhounds. Also Robert could smell some booze in the room too, so...

 

On the other hand, if one took a sober look at things, then there wasn’t anything consistent either. No traces, no clues, even the smallest. Absolute zero. Robert had already suggested Hernandez to hand over the case to the special squad to take that burden of a case off his shoulders, but every time that question popped up Sam would just grin and pat Brooks on the shoulder. 

"Bob, what are talking about? You have such an experience, such record! And what a chance to be a mentor to the young one!"

 

_ Sounds easier than it is... _

 

“Surprise!” a folder fell sharply on the table in front of Brooks.

 

_ Oh my God… _

 

“Cheer up, partner!" Tam said, plopping down in the armchair opposite to Brooks. "We have a case!"

 

"Um, I know," Robert raised an eyebrow, "and you always find an excuse to slick away"

 

"No, you don’t understand, Bobby." Bennett majestically placed his palm on the folder, touching it with his fingertips, and slowly moved it towards Brooks. "We have a case."

 

Robert, still looking suspiciously at the youngster, took the folder and opened it, going into reading. Photo, name, surname, lots and lots of text. With every line he read, the hope to at least somehow bring the present day to an acceptable level, was slipping away. It seemed that having a leash wasn’t a joking idea, but a very real necessity.

 

Brooks gave his partner a glance full of fatigue and disappointment.

 

“Well, am I good at making surprises or am I the best?” Bennett's brows creased conspiratorially.

 

"Please tell me this is a joke ..."

 

“Why?”

 

“Tam, I’m begging you.”

 

"What's wrong, Bob?"

 

Brooks heaved a deep sigh and began to read aloud.

 

“Mabel Jessica Pines, born in 1999, Piedmont, California. According to her landlords arrived on January 18 of this year from the city of New York. According to Smiths couple - owners of the apartment at 881 West Roosevelt Street Miss Pines rented - she came across as a modest, quiet woman, not particularly talkative and constantly thoughtful. Her interests were the surroundings, especially the University of Louisiana and Manchac swamps. Mr and Mrs. Smith also noted that she preferred not to answer questions about family and relatives. Only said that she was married, but got divorced a few years ago. Wasn’t seen participating in any phone calls. On the 20th of January she left the rented apartment and never came back. Was dressed in a gray coat and a long skirt, carrying a medium-sized travel bag and a mobile phone, which she stopped responding around 7 pm. Left a laptop and a notebook in the apartment”.

 

Brooks put down the folder and brought his hands to the bridge of his nose, resting his elbows on the countertop.

 

"Great, isn’t it?" exclaimed Tam. “Full set - you’ve got clues and description! All we need to do is restore her route, trace each her step, find her perso... What?”

 

Brooks, still holding his hands on the bridge of his nose, pointed to his partner with his finger, as if asking him to plug his fountain of enthusiasm.

 

"What's bothering, Bobby?"

 

_ Calm down, Robert, calm down. You are reasonable, smart man. You’ve had many of such conversations with your young son Aaron. It's the same, no differences. _

 

"Bob, you're straining me."

 

_ Easy, easy. I'm straining him, you see. Well, well, let it be, a little bit of tension didn’t kill anyone so far. I'm still alive. _

 

"Listen, you're breathing as if you've gone too far with pepper in the soup, Bobby.”

 

_ All right, that's enough _ .

 

Robert slowly raised his head, holding his hands together at the tip of his nose. He was breathing really deep and quite noisy.

 

"First," he began softly, clearing his throat, "call me Bobby one more time and you'll be riding in the back seat. And second, we have no new case. Foot down”.

 

Tam whistled.

 

“Hmm, mate, you're …” 

 

"Let me ask you something" interrupted Robert, "when you accepted this case, which part of your organism was functioning as a thinking part?"

 

“What does it have to do with it? It's such an opportunity!”

 

“What opportunity? Tell me" Brooks asked, still keeping his coolness.

 

Tam looked at him with an expression of complete perplexity a second or two, then leaned forward and began:

 

“Listen. What’s the main problem we had with the Marlowe’s case?”

 

“The case itself.”

 

“I'm serious.”

 

“You don’t say! You know how to be serious?”

 

"Look, this isn’t funny” Tam frowned. "Our main problem was time which we’re lacking of. What did we initially know about the Marlowe girl? Almost nothing, neither where most likely she could go, nor her full circle of acquaintances. So no one expected that her loss could be just such a case.”

 

“What case?”

 

"Such a case" Bennett pointed to the folder, "clear as day."

 

Brooks raised his eyebrows.

 

"Give me at least a hint because I don’t really understand ..."

 

“There’s nothing to understand here. A lonely woman, from another city. Comes to nowhere and almost immediately disappears!” Bennett could barely restrain himself from being excited. "This is our Oregon maniac, I'm telling you."

 

_ Well, here you go. _

 

_ When it comes to do paperwork, he has plan for the evening. And when it comes to burden me with additional stress, so he's first in line. It’s already becoming unbearable. How do I explain him? _

 

"Ok, Tam," Robert said, restrainedly. "Here’s what we’ll do. You’ll take this muck to where you took it, wash your hands with soap and then we'll go to your piano tutor.”

 

Bennett made an uncomprehending face.

 

“Seriously. We are not taking this case and that’s final. We've had enough trouble with that Marlowe girl" Tam started to protest, but Brooks stopped him, lifting both his hands “No, I'm saying that’s enough. Get yourself a notebook, call it "My hasty conclusions that have nothing to do with reality" and write down all your speculation there.”

 

Robert got up from the table and began to pull on his jacket.

 

“Now you and I will get in the car, go for a coffee and do some work.”

 

With these words, Brooks took his car keys from the table, checked once more whether the token that hung on his belt of trousers was there and was ready to the exit the office when Bennett found something to say:

 

"So you'll go to Sam yourself?"

 

“For what?” Brooks froze half a turn, looking back at his partner.

 

Bennett just shrugged.

 

“Well, to tell him personally that you refuse to take the case, which he himself commissioned, for example?”

 

_ Sam did what? _

 

“Come again.”

 

"The captain of the state police department assigns us a case, and you stand against the decision of your superiors." Bennett smiled ingenuously.  “Pretty brave of you, I must say.”

 

_ Oh no. No no no _ .

 

_ So it’s not Tam? Can this day get any worse? _

 

Brooks sighed noisily and lowered his head, staring at his polished black boots. How many thresholds were overstepped by these guys, how many pursuits for criminals and capture operations they saw. How many times did Brooks polish them to shine, to look neat, while receiving a new title or listening a praise for a successfully disclosed case. How long have they gone and for what? In order to soon go to the dump together with the Robert’s career.

 

The vision of the house in California again appeared before him and immediately melted in a light haze. Nothing of the sort will happen if the captain continues to charge Robert with such hopeless cases and companions.

 

“So what?” Tam behind Brooks pointedly looked at his watch. “What did you say about coffee? Can we grab a cup for Sam? Well, you know, as a sign of respect and …”

 

"Come on ..." Robert muttered softly.

 

“Sorry, what?”

 

Brooks raised his eyes to the ceiling and repeated a little more distinctly:

 

“Come. On”

 

Bennett, grinning in a broad smile, instantly jumped from his seat, grabbed a folder from the table and flew past a still motionless partner, slapping him along the shoulder.

 

“That’s more like it!” he proclaimed joyfully. “New case, baby!”

 

_ Would you just shut up already _ an unfortunate thought flew through Robert's head as he sadly followed Tam out of the office.

 

***

 

“And she had very kind eyes. Hazel” Brooks looked into his notebook. Yes, this phrase has sounded for the third or fourth time for those half an hour from the time that detectives arrived to the landlords of the missing.

 

“Kind, but very sad eyes …”

 

"Yes, Mrs. Smith, I think I wrote it down," Robert said, holding out his hand to his cup of tea on the coffee table in front of him. Mr. Smith tumbled in the room noisily puffing, holding an ashtray in one hand while the second was already groping for his pocket.

 

“Anna really liked the girl” Mr. Smith perched in a chair next to his wife. The ashtray was placed on a table next to the cup of Brooks, and in the pocket finally found the coveted pack of cigarettes. A mischievous smile played on Mr. Smith's lips.

 

"Henry, for heaven's sake!" His wife threw up her hands. "How many times have I asked you not to smoke in the house! You know, my back does not welcome airing so often.”

 

"You can bear it once a week honey" Henry brought his lit-up match to a cigarette with trembling fingers then inhaled and immediately fell into a ruthless throaty cough.

 

Anna Smith shook her head worriedly, looking at her husband, and turned to the detective:

 

"I told him that forty years of smoking would make some consequences. Imagine - he wasn’t listening to me until he laid down on the surgery table! Who knew that you can get a tumor like that, right?”

 

"Benign," Henry finally cleared his throat, "it was benign, my dear. And the main thing I’m still in one piece. Head, hands, legs” he winked at the detective and folded his old mouth into a grin like a little mischievous schoolboy.

 

“And what’s betw…”

 

"When you, ahem ..." Robert hastily intervened to stop the phrase, which beginning wasn’t biding anything good "when you applied, you mentioned that Mabel reluctantly talked about herself. I believe that you’ve learned at least something about her?”

 

"Yes detective but very, very little." Mrs. Smith clasped her fingers and put them to her forehead, concentrating on something.

 

"She said she came from New York," her husband said, releasing a cloud of blue smoke, "god knows what called her to our backwoods ..."

 

"Oh shush, Henry." Mrs. Smith shook her finger in vexation. "I'm sure detective knows already where the girl came from."

 

“Can I clarify the question?” Brooks put the notebook aside on the table. “The bartender from the diner near the bus station mentioned that in a conversation with him Mabel said that she came in search for someone. Didn’t she tell you the same thing? Maybe mentioned who it was?”

 

"Ah, poor thing! Did she have to eat breakfast there?” Mrs. Smith shook her head in frustration. "If she came at once, I would feed her with a decent breakfast. What kind of muck could she be offered there?”

 

"They used to have good burgers," Henry shook the ashes, "at least five years ago, when I last had them ..."

 

“Nonsense! Burger for breakfast?”

 

“Ahem. Mrs. Smith …”

 

"Yes, sorry" Anna turned her attention to Brooks. "No, she didn’t say anything like that to us. She was married, that's all I know about her life. But her husband didn’t interest her very much, as far as I can tell. I did not see a ring as a lock, so he’s probably still alive. Maybe he was quite a scoundrel”

 

"And what’s her husband's name?"

 

Anna just shook her head.

 

"Forgive me, detective, but I never heard it from her."

 

From above came the sound of the door being opened, followed by hasty steps down the stairs.  _ Found something _ a thought rushed through Robert's head. A moment later, Tam appeared in the room. His face was ... disappointed?

 

"Mrs. Smith, you wrote in a application that Mabel had a laptop and a notebook."

 

"That's right, young man, she left them in her room."

 

Brooks stared at his partner's face, puzzled. Tam only shook his head briefly.

 

"Is something wrong, gentlemen?"

 

"Have you left your house in the last couple of days?"

 

"Just to do shopping yesterday afternoon ... what happened?"

 

Brooks rose abruptly, and they both hastily rushed to the stairs to the second floor. Mabel's room was nothing particularly noteworthy - a bed, a desk, a window and four walls. Things were lying neatly, the bed was made. It seemed that the guest had left a minute ago.

 

“Checked the window sill?”

 

“Yes, it’s dusty as if no one touched it for several years”

 

“A lock on the door?”

 

“Just a latch, any fool would open without a trace ..”.

 

Brooks slowly walked to the table, on which was a layer of dust accumulated over the past few days. All the items seemed to be in their places, but two square spots were barely noticeable near the edge, in which dust seemed to sink.The distance between the spots was about 9 inches, as between the pads of a small laptop.

 

"I think we're done here" Robert muttered.

 

***

 

"So someone broke into the house at night, or when the hosts were not there," Robert and Tam were driving away from the Smiths' house toward the police department, "I think we both understand that it was our client."

 

“Here you go, drawing conclusions again!” Brooks briefly honked the driver who was still standing on the green traffic light signal.

 

"Maybe it's our client, or maybe just a burglar."

 

“Burglar who took only a laptop?”

 

"Did you have time to inspect the rest of the house? Found anything valuable?”

 

“No, but …”

 

“Exactly. Maybe he was in a hurry”

 

“Come on, you're just looking for an excuse not to solve for 2 and 2”

 

“I'm looking for an excuse to conduct an investigation of a case imposed on me correctly”

 

"Come on, Bobby, this is an adventure! Now we write a request to New York, find her family ... hey, need to have a leak?”

 

Robert pulled over and stopped abruptly. After that, he turned his head staring at his partner intensely.

 

“What?”

 

Brooks slowly moved his head toward the back seat.

 

"What’s that?" Bennett looked back “I can’t see anyth…”

 

Coming to a realization he slowly turned and gave his partner an incredulous look.

 

"Are you kidding me?"

 

Robert shook his head sarcastically.

 

"You're not serious."

 

"Very serious, Tam." Brooks looked at his watch briefly. "Hurry up, we're running late."

 

Rolling his eyes Bennett leaned back in his seat looking up above while groping for the handle. Twenty seconds later, when he got into the back seat and slammed the door behind him, Robert said with satisfaction:

 

"You have to bear responsibility for your words and deeds, dear Tam. Welcome to the world of adults”

 

He heard a loud raspberry being blown from behind and noticed in the rearview mirror that Bennett was now staring out of the window with his arms folded.

 

“Who I'm talking to though…”  Robert tiredly complained without addressing anyone “Seriously, my eight-year-old son behaves more adequately”

 

He accelerated and detectives continued their way to the department building.


	4. Chapter 3

New York, NY, October 7-11, 2024

 

Nights seemed to be the hardest to live through. Not literally - in a physical way - but maybe a little bit in that way too. Just a bit…

 

Every morning he felt numb. No such things as work, clothes or breakfast were present in his area of interest. And it seemed that those things were long gone for a while then. Only his memories, smells from the past and lingering sensations of light touches that were unlikely to happen again were orbiting him every day from the moment of awakening…

 

_ Unlikely to happen again? Light touches? Ding-fucking-Dong, you bloody idiot. Stop thinking of it like you’ve been married for a lifetime and then your wife moved to her gram-gram’s place at the “Fluffy Clouds Acres”... _

 

_ Yeah, you have other suggestions about how to live on with a giant hole instead of heart?.. _

 

He wanted to feel himself a victim. Longed for sympathizers of all kinds queuing up to his bed, big baskets full with fruits in their hands, “Get well soon” cards, soothing phrases on their tongues - that he was every right to feel what he felt, that he deserved her and she made a very big mistake picking that bastard to be her husband…

 

_ You know what would be more honest? If somebody brought you some poison instead. _

 

_ Or at least whiskey… _

 

_ Would you knock it off already? Where’s your smart part when it comes to distinguishing seeds from chaff? Do you honestly think that all your feelings are of a value? Don’t be ridiculous - your own sister? For real? You actually expected everything to work out?    _

 

_ Shut up… _

 

It was Monday morning, Dipper had to get prepared to leave for work - he’s finally got a position. Kind of. Same duties, another ton or two plus to his salary - at least it was something, right? At least an excuse not to spend all of his time in this god forsaken flat all day long.

 

But he was still laying in his sister’s bed, inhaling her scent that somehow managed to stay in the pillow. What a pathetic view it was…

 

Not as pathetic as his kitchen exterior though. The day prior - as for all other days - there was loads of booze and Dipper was too lazy to bother himself with throwing out the garbage so there was lots of empty bottles laying and standing here and there, empty cigarettes packs, chinese food boxes - a perfect decorations for a hopeless bachelor’s place.

 

Sloppily cooked breakfast, coffee as dark as New York’s midnight sky - state’s one. The city itself was living 24 hours so the illumination was enough to make a barrier between nighttime dreamers and traces of light casted by long gone celestial giants billions of human lives away from our sinful rotten asteroid.

 

Perhaps it was the other way around in New City. Probably the view was breathtaking with all the stars in the sky to count, crispy countryside air to bath in…

 

Warm and gentle hand of beloved woman to squeeze, cascades of her hazel hair to admire and fiddle with…

 

Dipper stumbled upon the battalion of empty bottles causing some of them fall clinking resentfully. The sound was enough to make his head ache and cast a grimace of displeasure on his face.

 

_ So that’s the plan, huh? Drink until you find a ball of snot instead of your liver? _

 

_ Pffft...as if _

 

_ Oh, I get it. Not your problem, right? It’s ten-years-later-Dipper’s problem… _

 

He had to take control over the situation - find a better job, start doing some kind of sport to get fit, maybe find a woman. Anything that will help him get over his misery and make this voice nagging at the back of his mind go…

 

_ That’s a great plan - so many details. Hey, why don’t you get a job in NASA? With your ability to make plans like that we will land on Mars twenty years earlier than estimated. _

 

Or at least by then he had a simpler task to tackle - get dressed and step out of this flat to start a new day that’s unlikely to be any different from the day before. Only task he could possibly do without failing.

 

As for making detailed plans - that’s an important concept, Dipper had to admit. All this abstract thoughts and ideas about new job and sport - they’re important nevertheless. But if one just postulates such things they’re unable to lead anywhere. Dipper as one who used to be the master of bajillion steps checklists for any occasion - to win Wendy’s heart for example - knew for sure that if he wanted to make any progress he needed to think and plan deeper than that.

 

What Mabel used to tease him about pretty often was a very useful ability. Staying organized, understanding each step and possible alternative breakpoints and handling possible exceptions. For an average person this way of thinking could play good if they keep it in balance with other aspects of their life. But Dipper was no average person.

 

He was...Dipper. And that meant that balance was off the table.

 

Good or bad, Dipper and Mabel complemented each other in so many things that one of them wasn’t whole without the other. And that same balance in Dipper’s vigorous activity of his brain was introduced by his sister, with her emphasis on feelings, emotions, and her own particular angle of view.

 

But when he found himself alone he started to crumble. His brain was acting like a locomotive rushing at maximum speed risking to go off the rail at any moment. Nerves gone acute and at the same time emotions gone blank. 

 

He tried - God knows he did - to live on his own, to give way to his emotions, tried to find that different point of view, based on feelings, yet to no big avail. Every attempt ended at the start point, all theories were in contradiction with one another and ended up crumbled. 

 

The only thing that helped in letting all go was alcohol.

 

Only having drunk a glass or two of bourbon he used to start looking at all what was happening differently. After half of bottle he used to start feeling.

 

He was feeling pure pain caused by disappearance of his most beloved person, his second half from his life. Of the girl, who somehow managed to make him falling for her so hard casting thousands of butterflies in his stomach, sending shivers down his spine when she laughed and making him completely numb when she cried. Mabel Pines, that one and only girl in the world for whom he was ready to jump off the cliff on a gigantic robot with nothing but his bare hands, for whom he was ready to endure any level of his own pain just to keep her safe and protect her. He’s never loved anybody as much as he loved her. And never will.

 

He was feeling anger.  _ What did this smug douchebag know about Mabel? Was it him who lived with her for the whole life? What he can possibly give her? I don’t remember him breaking through Bill’s traps to set her free from that bubble prison. Not to say he wasn’t one who crawled through SWAT squad to clear Stan’s name. Heck, I bet he couldn’t even handle gnomes - probably would shit himself and bail with his tail tucked. And is he ready to cover her with his body in case something threatening her? Is he capable of doing anything that slick faggot from Wall Street?! Who is he to separate us?! _

 

He was feeling fear.  _ Mabel is alone out there. Where will you be when she needs you, huh? You saw what world could have in store twelve years ago. Do you think anything changed? Do you think that Bill won’t return? Or even if he won’t who said that he’s the only one? You’ve been thinking about it for quite a while, haven’t you? _

 

On Tuesday that fear dimmed his eyes to almost unbearable level.  _ What’s the matter? Why your hand with a lighter clenched in it shakes so hard?  _

 

_ Shut up… _

 

On Wednesday he took an illness day off. He was feeling rather bad physically but that wasn’t the matter - he was just really scared to leave his flat. For the whole day he kept wandering within it - from his sister’s bedroom to the kitchen and back - rushing constantly to his computer typing request after request or scribbling some incomprehensible gibberish in his journal - the same that Mabel gave him as a birthday present. Yet another bottle was opened not long after lunch time, because he couldn’t bear that day staying sober.

 

The next day - on Thursday - in the early morning he woke up at pretty much the same spot he ended falling the night prior - behind the sofa in the living room. His face felt swelling, knees and elbows were harshly scratched at various places - perhaps he would find some furniture items at same poor condition. His journal was lying on the sofa, its first dozen pages or so covered with all kind of theory snippets or logical fact chains - anything he could come up with in order to keep his brain working consistently and not having it exploded. Some of his notes made no sense at all, others reeked with insanity. He had to keep working, had to grasp that tiny bits of his mind floating on the surface of the blindingly dark ocean consisting of repelling visions, predator’s muzzles and never ending sound of some woman crying.

 

Also there was one more thing swirling through that ocean - a phrase carelessly spoken by Zach on Saturday.

 

On Friday night the week before Mabel was bombarding her brother’s phone with invitations for him to come over to Turner’s and have a dinner together. He missed her beloved brother and probably was acknowledging the fact that in such conditions a modest family dinner was the only option for them to spend some quality time together instead of nights full of movie marathons and pizza. It’s what people do, don’t they? When they become adults…

 

But if Mabel was feeling a bit melancholic because of that blunt bogus of an activity, it came to no comparison with what Dipper might’ve felt that exact second he appeared at Zach’s door. He either would leave within an hour tops or get drunk as swine. So it was better not to come at all to prevent such bad consequences.

 

But having to turn his sister down over a phone for yet another time wasn’t any less painful. Hearing her voice changing from cheerful one to upset, because of whatever excuse he could come up with - working late, having an extra task, needing to stay up until late night home because of an important article he had to finish. Or hearing her playful teasings about him having a secret date with ladies and reminders to leave a tie on the knob which would make him laugh uncontrollably adding more more pain. He couldn’t stand it. That’s why he decided to take a decisive action.

 

He turned off his cell phone. And spent a long time sitting on a bench near to Brooklyn bridge with a bottle of whiskey in a paper bag, staring at his device’s black lifless screen as if trying to soak its void up.

 

_ Void and darkness. What are they? The absence of life, light, benignancy. Absence of everything - only vast and pure nothingness. Why can’t I adapt it? To feel nothing, to throw this piece of plastic into the river, to come home today, grab my bag and jump on the first flight to Oregon. Cut all ties with Mabel, simply disappear from her horizon. Wouldn’t that be better? _

 

_ It sure would’ve been easier. _

 

But the only response the phone’s screen could give the reflection of the autumn afternoon sky with glimpses of upcoming dusk rather than comply with Dipper’s inner desires. So only thing he was left with was whiskey again.

 

Its taste was already a rock solid number one in his rating of favourite tastes. In mixture with tobacco smoke. Nevertheless that blend taken in serious doses were casting an instant portal to the morning after.

 

And what it had in store were regrets and sorrowful thoughts about what he’d done and what a jackass of a brother he was. So the phone was turned on, Mabel’s number typed his thumb hovering over the green button was given an order to hold it back no more.

 

There was a beep. And then another. And another.

 

After 6 beeps Dipper started having second thoughts about how 9 pm on Saturday might’ve been not the best time for late apologies but then his phone slightly buzzed and he heard someone’s deep morning breathing on the other end.

 

“Hi, Mabes, I...um...” he started timidly trying to soften his hoarse hang over voice “About yesterday...I’m really sorry I couldn’t call you back...my battery died and I had to stay late so I walked home and hit the hay the moment I entered...”

 

He let out a clumsy chuckle scratching the back of his head.  

 

_ Telling lies, are we? _

 

_ Shut up. _

 

“So...yeah...I’m sorry I couldn’t make it yesterday to your place...um...maybe will try the next Friday? Mabes?”

 

He heard a male voice giggling through the receiver that sent cold wave to his abdomen.

 

“Oh, sorry, man. Didn’t want to interrupt your monologue.”

 

Zach.  _ That bastard… _

 

“Oh...hey, Zach...” he wasn’t ready to stumble upon Zach in such condition. “Um...would you mind passing phone to Mabel?”

 

“I wish, bro, i wish” Dipper clenched his fist hard enough to make his knuckles go white “But Mrs. Turner is still watching whatever bright and pleasant dream she’s watching”

 

_ Was that scoffing? Mrs Turner? As if he won her and now showing it off. Fuck, as if he thinks he took my wife… _

 

_ Wouldn’t be much of a fallacy, huh? _

 

_ I told you to shut up. _

 

He needed to somehow play it cool. Put aside his own twisted feelings and think of what’s better for Mabel - if she found out about his hostility towards her husband and linked it with his constant denials to come for dinner that would be really bad.

 

“Okay, ahem...” he cleared his throat before continuing “Can you maybe ask her to call me back when she’s awake then?”

 

“No problem at all. But, you know, I can tell her myself...”

 

“No no no, better if I tell her what I wanted to tell, thanks. Um...okay, b..”

 

“Oh, how things are going on your side, Mason? Haven’t heard from you for ages.”

 

_ Oh, son of a...why by name? _

 

“Good, good. Yeah, so...”

 

“Heard you’ve got promoted. Got a position?”

 

“Well...um...not exactly, but...I’m working on it. Yeah, sorry for early ca...”

 

“And how’s the money? Do they pay you enough?”

 

_ Oh you impudent chuffed fuck.  _

 

_ Tell him. _

 

“Enough for me, thanks. Well, okay I...”

 

“Look, we have a vacant position at stock exchange. Consultants are paid good and respected, so I thought maybe...”

 

“I’m not keen on idea of selling people something I don’t personally believe in, thank you.”

 

_ Shit, that was bad. Didn’t mean to sound so harshly. _

 

_ He started it. _

 

_ Shut up. _

 

He heard Zach laughing on the other end.  _ Damn, even insults are not working for him. He’s got his walls built solid. _

 

“Why so determined? Believe me, after first salary when you start buying yourself some big men toys like cars you won’t say such immature things.”

 

_ Yeah, yeah. Teach me how to live my life, bitch. _

 

“Well, if I were you I would think about it, Mason. I’d take it as an honor to help my family member.”

 

“Yeah, okay, cool. Um...”  _ Come on, say something polite to end this  _ “Have a nice day, Zach.”

 

“No it is? Okay, whatever you say. You’re a good man but you’re sometimes being silly, Pinetree.”

 

Dipper’s heart skipped a beat and he felt thunderstruck. All his muscles tightened. Given he was slouching, it seemed that his body’s fulcrum had shifted slightly above the rib cage.

 

“What did you call me?” asked Dipper his voice hardly above whispering.

 

“What? Old mocking nickname? Sorry, didn’t mean to...”

 

“What. Did. You. Call. Me?” repeated Dipper louder.

 

“Oh, c’mon, man. I’m sorry, for real, I...”

 

_ Can it be?.. _

 

_ I can’t see why not _

 

_ No, that’s impossible. No, no.. _

 

_ Well, he told you she was sleeping, but do you trust him? _

 

_ Mabel… _

 

“Where is she?”

 

“Who? Mabel? Man, I told you she is leisuring...”

 

“Pass her the phone”

 

“Look, she’s really not ready to talk to anybody right now, you how she is. Man, like for real - I’m sorry if that upsets you, it wasn’t my inten...”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Zach!!!” Dipper growled, he could feel himself drowning in unimaginable paralyzing horor. “Where is my sister?!”

 

“Hey! Watch the language, pal!”

 

“Where is my sister?!”

 

“Piss off!”

 

“Where is Mabel?!!” Dipper broke into shouting. His breathing was heavy and ragged, he could feel his blood rushing to his head almost setting tips of his ears on fire. His face also grew unbearably hot.

 

“You know the address, you mental piece of human garbage!!! Come over and see where it leads you!!!”

 

His mind was rushing billion miles per hour. The boiler in his locomotive of a brain was about to blow up. Blood was pounding in his ears, he could literally feel his blood vessels filling up with pure adrenaline, he tasted metal in his mouth and there was something more with that taste. It was...was it?..

 

_ Wait, what does sulfur taste like? _

 

He wasn’t listening to Zach’s shoutings on the other end of line anymore. He was paralyzed by that unaccountable fear. He couldn’t say anything, he couldn’t move - every tiny little cell of his body wasn’t answering his commands. It was a trap, he knew that. A blurred burning trap with spurts of flame dancing before him, licking his calves sending anguishing sensations to his muscles and to his brain. There were lizard’s eyes with narrow pupils everywhere, he couldn’t see them, but he was feeling watched by them. He could feel their glares cutting him like it was a straight razor, he could feel cold fingers digging through his head, twining around his eyeballs. And there was a voice - a woman was shouting his name. It was familiar but nontheless it was demanding razor to push deeper and deeper! Cutting him in two, then in four, then…

 

Deeper!

 

_ Deeper! _

 

“DIPPER!!!”

 

In a heartbeat he was back into Mabel’s room in their Brooklyn flat; her was dragged him out of that horrifying vision. He was kneeling before the bed, clenching bedcover with his right hand and his cellphone with his left. He was breathing through gritted teeth loudly and heavily.

 

_ What was real out of all that?.. _

 

The only thing - her voice. A concerned voice of Mabel still calling his name, in which he could hear that she was on the verge of breaking into tears. She was scared - perhaps he and Zach woke her up with their banter and scared her a lot. And his heavy breathing distorted by the transmitter apparently wasn’t helping at all.

 

_ Keep it together, Pines, keep it together! Shake off this nightmare and tell her that you’re safe, that you’re fine. _

 

_ Are you, though? _

 

_ Yes! I’m fine, I’m totally fine! _

 

_ But what about B… _

 

_ He’s dead!!! He’s long gone!!! Mabel’s safe, she’s not dragged away from me into another dimension! She’s here, she’s actually relatively close. _

 

_ I need to catch my breath. Okay, one in and one out...here we go… _

 

“Dipper, please! Say something! Say something to me!” he could practically see the first teardrop rolling down her tender rosy cheek. “Dipper, I’m begging you!”

 

“Mabes, I...”  _ at least the voice is...yep, it’s mine  _ “I...my battery...it died so I had to walk home and...”

 

“Bro-bro, what are talking about?”

 

“I was staying late...so s’why I couldn’t...couldn’t come to dinner...yeah...I’m sorry. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

 

“Please tell me you’re okay, Dipper. Please tell me that.”

 

“Yeah, I am...Totally, Mabes, totally...”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

He gulped nervously listening to his unsteady breathing.

 

_ Telling lies again? Way to g… _

 

“Yes, Mabel, everything’s well I swear” he tried to sound as calm as he could “I...s-sorry for waking you up.”

 

And he ended the call.

 

_ Splendid, my man. _

 

_ Is that so hard to do? I said shut the fuck up. I need a drink. _

 

***

 

On Friday he finally made it to work. Dressed in a black hoodie covered in stains of various food and sauces, worn out unwashed trousers of same color he was kind of a ghost to everyone else in the editorial office - no one would bother themselves waving him hello or even noticing him. He was sitting at his small desk in the open space surrounded by stacks of papers and office supplies. Obviously he forgot to take his laptop with him as well as his wallet. For some reason only valuable thing he had then was the most inappropriate one - his driver’s license, which was laying on the desk with his cellphone with already cracked screen. 

 

Time was approaching lunch but food wasn’t even in top ten of his priorities. Frankly he could hardly remember when was the last time he actually consumed something apart from alcohol and cigarettes. Was it that morning? Or the morning before? And does a peanut butter and jelly toast count as food?

 

All that was in the background of his mind at that moment. The main screen of his mind was displaying various footage soaked with anxiety; each minute a bunch of viewers were collectively advising the main character on the white screen to take right turn or left or to head straight. And footages were constantly changing.

 

For the first time fear and pain started blending. Only one component was left…

 

“Pines!” a familiar voice called out for him. At least someone noticed his presence.

 

Paul Hempstead - the chief editor of essays department - was slowly approaching his desk, scanning through a stack of papers in his hands slowly.

 

“Good to see you again. Caught a bad cold?” he switched his attention from papers to his employee.

 

“My god” he gasped “What happened to your face?”

 

“I fell” Dipper said with colorless voice not even raising his eyes to look at editor.

 

“Right, you fell” as if taking a hint responded Paul “Okay, I won’t ask. I have a job for you. Are you going to lunch? I’ll explain while eating.”

 

“No, I’m not going” Dipper’s voice still wasn’t displaying any emotions.

 

Looking bewildered Paul stared at him as if thinking of whether or not he’s likely to ask any other questions about reasons. Dipper stayed motionless looking right before him into the void.

 

“Yeah, you’re right. Better right here” the editor fished a paper out of stack in his hands and laid it before Dipper. “A letter from a concerned mother. Her son’s getting oppressed by his scholl mates - he’s part of a certain subculture so his mother wants us to make it sound to the society. The letter is for gist, I wanted you to go there and find all the details. I assigned a photographer to them - he will be going on Monday. Your task is for today so we have our fresh essay on Tuesday. It’s in Huntington - you’ll be done in 3 or 4 hours.”

 

“Okay” followed a similarly lifeless answer.

 

Hempstead was expecting for something more verbose.

 

“Ho-o-ka-y” he slowly echoed stretching syllables “There are bus routes but car is easier. Works for you?”

 

He waved his hand at Dipper’s driving license.

 

“I don’t have a car”

 

“Oh. That’s wise, probably - such a big busy city...You can take a shared car. There’re lots of them on every corner. What do you say? Besides that way you’ll clear your evening.”

 

“I forgot my wallet home.”

 

Paul started losing hope.

 

“That’s a misfortune...Look, you can go to accountants and ask them for a prepayment. In fact...” He fished his wallet out of his trousers pocket and laid three 100 dollars bills before Dipper “Here, you’ll return on a payday. Just take your time to prepare, you know - go home, take a nap, change and all...”

 

Dipper lowered his eyes to look at the money and nodded slightly. 

 

“Thank you Mr Hempstead” and added after second or two: “Can I go now?”

 

“For sure, Pines, for sure. Just don’t forget - deadline’s on Tuesday”

 

Not waiting for a response Paul rushed further down the aisle.

 

Dipper gave that money a look one more time, then grabbed it and his belongings from his desk and headed for exit.

 

When he was already at the door his phone buzzed. Even not looking at the screen he was already imagining her cute face, how she bit down her bottom lip waiting for him answer and twisting on of her locks. 

 

This time he decided not to make the same mistake twice. He took his phone out of pocket, cleared his throat and tapped the green button.

 

***

 

He was standing naked and wet after taking a shower before the mirror in his bathroom examining his reflection. His cheeks started sinking, right cheekbone was bruised after he met wooden floor with it. He stopped caring about his hair long ago, there were scattered spots of messy stubble here and there. His shoulders were hunched even more than he remembered.

 

For the past two months Dipper got used to an idea that he wouldn’t see anything good in his reflection but every time it was really important to him to examine his appearance carefully. He still harboured some hope that eventually an alarm in his brain would break out he would start working on at least the simplest plan for recovery.

 

Not to say it wasn’t happening any time.

 

He was still feeling saturated after eating some fried eggs with bacon as soon as he came home from work. Even 6 hours of sleep he plunged into as soon as he laid down didn’t manage to drain that feeling but regained his somewhat mental and physical forces a bit. 

 

He’s already failed Paul’s task, cause it was 9 in the evening and there’s no point to drive anywhere. That meant that he was in need to find some distraction to prevent his mind from once again spiralling down into anxiety and crimson blur.

 

_ Maybe I can use some fresh air. Like go to Central Park or cinema - anything but once again play ghost at the river’s embankment. _

 

A vision appeared before his eyes - that one, that refused to go away for almost two months then. He was with her, hand in hand slowly moving across the park paths, he gently squeezes her hand, then lets it go only to hug her shoulders with it, she smiles, lays her head on his shoulder, their steps become slower, more relaxed…

 

Dipper downed a full glass of whiskey. The amber liquid started warming his chest, his stomach. It was such a false warmth that if he closed his eyes he could feel it as a light breeze, stuck between tree trunks in the heart of the park. He could feel it as her warm and gentle hands caressing his chest, so tiny and tender compared to sizes of her sweater…

 

Not exactly registering he downed another glass.

 

_ This is insane. You are! You can take her back, you can’t explain her anything! You can’t give her anything but your warmth! _

 

_ Wouldn’t that be enough? Is there anybody who can give it to her? _

 

_ No. NO! _

 

_ No one can do that! No one will protect her but me! _

 

Another glass downed.

 

_ Only I know her that much! Only I saw what this unfair world full of violences can do to her! _

 

Another glass.

 

_ I fought demon for her! And I won! I saved my Mabel! My sweet, gentle Mabel. _

 

Another.

 

_ What if he lives? _

 

_ Impossible. He perished. _

 

_ Yeah, but what if he survived? _

 

He started drinking straight from the bottle.

 

_ What’s the matter? Are you scared? Oh, you should be. What were you thinking - you’ve jumped from that cliff once and that’s it? So you can sit around, having your time? _

 

_ Shut up… _

 

He knew there’s a car outside. And he’s got the keys. Also he knows what lies in his bottom drawer covered with kitchen blankets.

 

_ No, you shut up and listen. You abandoned her. Left her so that clown now can do whatever he wants. Do you know who he is? Have you spent a spare second studying what kind of man he is? _

 

_ Shut up. _

 

He tried to walk steadily and failed. A brass knuckles in his right pocket - a gift from Gruncle Stan - and bottle of whiskey in left hand weren’t helping in balancing at all. He got into a shared vehicle. If only he could start the engine…

 

_ Bravo! Just perfect, my boy! Guess what - you’ve got fooled! How hilarious is that? _

 

_ Shut up. _

 

He turned the engine but the impulse died instantly.

 

_ Our Big Master Dipper - a threat to all monsters and demons… _

 

_ Shut up! _

 

Another turn. And one more... _ Come on! _

 

_ …a famous mysteries solver got fooled by some pathetic equilateral one-eyed… _

 

_ SHUT UP!!! _

 

_ PINETREE!!! _

 

The engine roared coming to life. Dipper accelerated steering the car to the north-west away from the city - to a small countryside place in suburbs called New City. 


End file.
